


Watcha Readin', College Boy?

by pantykinksam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Fluff, M/M, Reading Aloud, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantykinksam/pseuds/pantykinksam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean settles his back into Sam’s ribcage and Sam breathes out hot into Dean’s throat, and they fit together just right, carved and slotted perfectly in place. </p><p>“Read t’me, S’mmy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watcha Readin', College Boy?

“Watcha readin’, college boy?” 

The power’s come back on and Sam’s still tingling from the afterglow, and the adrenaline is just wearing off, tingling under Sam’s skin like Dean’s mouth is still on him.

Dean’s staring up at him, his eyes scanning Sam’s face in a kind of disconcerting way, a flush rising up Sam’s collar but he keeps his eyes on his book. It gets worse when he’s looking at his brother and Sam’s ALWAYS looking at his brother. 

“I said,” Dean says in that kind of sexed-out husky voice that goes right to Sam’s dick. “Watcha readin’?”

And then Sam’s staring right back at him, almost unwilling.

Sam has this bizarre thought, a sudden flash of biting Dean’s mouth. 

“It’s uh,” Sam says, then stops. He darts a look back at his brother again. He keeps swallowing, keeps begging Dean to look away but even he doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know what he wants from Dean. 

There’s a loose thread clinging to the stitching of Dean’s shoulder and Sam tugs it off. Dean kinda flinches but then Sam’s slipping a hand under his collar and Dean’s falling back into his lap with a sigh. 

Something about Dean’s skin in his palm, the life in his hands, and he’s shuddering, a small contraction in his chest like a heartbeat and it runs through Dean too, settled into Sam’s lap on the couch. 

/I like this/ Sam thinks, and it’s a thought Sam is somewhat amazed to realize. Drowsy eleven at night and Dean against his chest with his hand pushed under his shirt and his hair sex-matted, a lazy smirk on his face. Dean is watching Sam like he’s reading a book of his own, eyes on him, eyes /always/ on him. 

And Sam is thinking, /I never want this to end/. 

“It’s uh, research stuff. Nothin’ too great.” 

Dean is breathing shallow and fast, and he swallows again. He’s looking at Sam’s mouth. 

Sam clears his throat, strokes his thumb over Dean’s exposed ribcage and flicks his eyes back to the book in his hands. 

Dean thumbs at Sam’s lower lip, presses open-mouthed kisses to Sam’s collarbone, Sam’s skin like wet and salty under his tongue. 

Dean has a hand on Sam’s cheek, just resting there. 

“Dean,” Sam says, eyebrows ticked slightly but he doesn’t look away from his book. Dean passes his fingers over Sam’s lips, gentle and tired but still there and Sam sighs deeply. “S’distracting. /You’re/ distracting.” 

Dean blushes, shifts in Sam’s lap. They’re sprawled across the couch, Sam’s barefoot feet tangled in Dean’s and they’re in dirty boxers and they reek of sex but Sam’s /happy/. 

Dean looks up at him, though, his face in the shadows, eyes and mouth heavy. Sam has to hold his breath; it’s just not right, what Dean does to him. 

Dean settles his back into Sam’s ribcage and Sam breathes out hot into Dean’s throat, and they fit together just right, carved and slotted perfectly in place. 

“Read t’me, S’mmy.” 

Sam sighs, smiles a little. This is all it should be. 

“C’mon, read to me, sweetheart.” 

Dean’s eyes are closed, and his arms are folded across his chest, waiting. 

Sam shrugs, which Dean knows means yes. 

“On March 23, 1957, Tommy Bowman, age 8, disappeared only a few yards from his family while hiking the trail above the reservoir.” 

“Huh,” Dean starts to say something, then stops, tilts his head to the side and kinda smiles at Sam: an apology of sorts. 

Something flickers in Sam’s stomach and he stops himself from smiling. “A thorough week-long search by 400 searchers failed to turn up any clues. Look, Dean, you gonna stop lookin’ at me like that? Can’t concentrate.” 

Dean scoffs out a laugh and Sam starts up again, then stops. He looks at Dean and Dean is looking back at him but there’s a new kind of light in his eyes, one Sam’s never seen before. 

Dean usually wears a smirk or a sneer or the perfect grin, but almost never is his face so clear, so just-for-Sam. Altogether dizzying, Sam thinks, and he tries to find his words again. 

“Sorry,” Dean says, but he’s touching Sam’s mouth. 

“Sorry,” he says, when Sam finds his place on the page again. 

“Right. Three years later, Bruce Kremen- Dean!” 

“What?” Dean asks in a whisper. “Yer beautiful, kid.” 

Sam smiles. “Remind me not to read to you anytime soon, you got that?” 

Dean frowns, leans forward and then stops, looking positively dumbfounded. “What?” 

“C’mere, jackass.” And Sam’s answering him with a kiss. Fits his mouth to Dean’s and licks his lips apart to suck on his tongue. 

Dean’s glowing under his skin, alight and so hot under Sam’s touch it almost hurts to look at him when Sam pulls away. 

He’s staring and he doesn’t even know who he is or what he’s doing.

“Iloveyou,” And it’s all in one breath, a little explosion. 

“Yeah,” Dean grinning huge as Sam tightens his grip on his shirt. 

And Dean’s ducking into Sam’s neck, hot mouth in his hair. 

“No, No, just,” Sam’s pulling him up to meet his eyes, and they’re kicking pillows of the couch but Sam’s got a good grip on Dean’s jaw and he’s murmuring, “Just get back here, lookit me, Dean.” 

He keeps licking his lips, staring at Dean’s mouth again.

“Ready to go again already, little brother?” And it’s taunting and heavy but Sam’s book is on the floor. 

“Quit talking so much, De,” Sam mumbles, nosing along Dean’s neck. “Always ready for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was just a quick write for @wnicest (on ig) but i figured hey, why not.


End file.
